Show Us Jesus :: 2 ~ BitterSweetLife

Chapter 2: Apprehension
(Chapter 1: Comprehension Chapter 3: Reception)

The paradoxical question, “How do I see the unseen?” could provoke a variety of answers. My freshman biology teacher would tell you, “Use a microscope and don’t smudge the slide.” Others might suggest hallucinogens. Or yoga. Others still would wiggle their fingers and say “Right back at ya, Doctor.” And each of these answers would miss the point.

Earlier I suggested that a search for Jesus—the flesh-and-blood man who is now invisible—begins in a place that is far, far away for many of us, and yet eerily fitting when we arrive. This elusive locale is what I call comprehension—a coming-to-terms with our spiritual poverty.

The sharp realization of this need is seldom planned, although it should be. But as Pascal wrote, “There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of man”—and, to mix metaphors, our natures abhor a vacuum. We dislike comprehension because it reveals a weakness, an ugly hole—a problem that, once recognized, would have to be radically dealt with.

But suppose we go there. If, in fact, I do get honest, what comes next? Impelled by loneliness or curiosity or regret I take a step toward Christ, hoping to brush the invisible—and something happens.

I call it apprehension.

Not fear or nervousness, but a good apprehending, a soulful grasping. Think of it as spiritual perception. Our vision isn’t 20/20, in fact it’s not even close, but we see a glimmer. Like crime scene investigators, we follow a hunch and catch a glimpse of something moving “over there!”

It’s a little like walking into an empty room and hearing live piano music from around the corner. Or seeing unfinished pencil sketches on the floor, or clothes draped over a chair. We may not see our company but we know we’re not alone. Finding Christ can seem this way.

As Philip Yancey writes,

A thin membrane of belief separates the natural from the supernatural. Prayers may sometimes seem like hollow, sleepy words that bounce off walls and rise no higher than the ceiling… We experiences the highest realities through the lowest, and we must learn to pay attention to notice the difference. - Philip Yancey, Rumors

But how do we “notice?”

If you have anything like an eye for detail, you’ll have picked up this clue of a catch-phrase; earlier I said that “GLORY IS OF THE ESSENCE.” And here, as we struggle to open spiritual eyes, the crucially revealing nature of Jesus’ glory comes into play.

The disciples physically saw Christ’s glory, “the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, generous inside and out, true from start to finish” (John 1:14)—but the glory still on display. We still catch glimpses.

For us, as in Jesus’ day, glory has intended effects. The effects are drastic and dangerous. This is because glory is not of little consequence. It is not, shall we say, mere sensory information about God.

You could think of glory as a path, often of breadcrumbs—now you see it, now you don’t. Ignore it and it’s gone. Or glory is a rope; when we begin sinking in the merely “physical” world, Christ throws us a line, and the line is glory. We grab it or we continue to drown.

You want to see the unseen? Glory is of the essence.

God reveals his glory to us and we run to follow it, see where it leads. I like to think of it as detective work: we have to trace the glory to its source. With a wonderfully chilling sensation, I realize the trail always leads the same place.

As Paul the theologian said, “Now God is shining in our hearts to let you know that his glory is seen in Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6, my emphasis). Suddenly one thing, at least, is clear: Glory has a purpose, a destination—and the destination is Christ.

John Muir grappled with this fact when he said, “Every natural object is a conductor of divinity.” And this strange trend, this translucent physicality—is all around us. We pick it up like a trail, put it together like clues, grab it like a lifeline. Then we follow.

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Our Story
Chapter 2: A Miracle and a Ghost (Read it: John 21:5-8)

It’s hard to forget Peter.

Early on, he sighted Christ’s divinity, shouted it out, to the accolades of Jesus and the amazement of his friends. He called Jesus GOD! when his pals were still pegging the Galilean as an itinerant fisherman. He threw himself, heart and soul, on Christ’s bandwagon before it was the in thing to do. And then, when things got ugly, when Jesus most needed a friend, Peter walked. And not just that—while Jesus watched, Peter swore up and down he never knew the man. Peter didn’t just walk away, he ran.

But that was days ago. Now Peter stood in a surf-tossed boat and wondered if his ears were playing tricks. He couldn’t breath because a man was calling from the shore, and he knew the voice. And he recognized the inflections. And he’d heard these very words before.

Peter, who had been so blind, apprehended—

A stranger on the beach. A strange and familiar command. The fish fighting to jump into the net! He had seen this before… And Peter followed the clues, he saw Jesus on shore, he dove from the boat. Nothing would stop him now.

We’re like Peter. We’ve sensed this, we’ve tasted it, we must have more: glimpses of Jesus.

Fortunately (and here is the crux), it is easier to apprehend Christ’s glory than to see Christ himself. Shards of his glory, signs of his passing, are everywhere. And this is the heart of apprehension: Providentially, we can “choose” our moments of sight.

We can gape as glory echoes in the Grand Canyon. We can find it in Glacier Park. We can stand and watch it as the sun go down…or see it gleam in the scales of fish that want to be caught.

More powerful yet, we can catch sparks of Christ’s glory in a familiar face, or an unexpectedly kind word. We’re not gods, but we’re made in God’s mold; Jesus was a man, and he still speaks through relationships.

There are so many clues, so many trails, so many threads. And all traces of glory lead to Christ, because he is the origin of glory. So we grab, we follow—we apprehend that Someone is nearby. And at this moment, what we do next determines everything.

Frederick Buechner writes,

Through some moment of beauty or pain, some subtle turning of our lives, we catch glimmers at least of what the saints are blinded by; only then, unlike the saints, we go on as though nothing has happened. To go on as though something has happened, even though we are not sure what it was or just where we are supposed to go with it, is to enter the dimension of life that religion is a word for.

We ought to be saints, should we not? Catch a glimpse and make a change. Peter threw himself overboard. Decisive action may be necessary.

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So once again, we find ourselves in Peter’s shoes.

We make out a figure at a distance, either God or ghost, and know that business-as-usual has just imploded. A path, even through rough water, screams to be followed. And there is this inner need, driving us on.

Peter was fighting his way through waves, but he had never swum this fast.

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This is Part 2 in a three-part series. Show Us Jesus 1 Show Us Jesus 3

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